


The Fight or Flight Job

by synteis



Series: Rope Studio AU [1]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Getting Together, Kinbaku, Kink Scene AU, Multi, Rope Bondage, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synteis/pseuds/synteis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot wasn't expecting much when he walked into Parker's studio. She's a professional rope top and her business partner, Alec Hardison, somehow juggles his consulting business with running her studio and the odd photography session. Sure it had come at the recommendation of the best pro-domme in the city, Sophie Devereaux, but did he really think a bit of suspension bondage would make him happy? You don't get to be happy in his line of work. If you are, you're doing it wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hardison

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Leverage fic!
> 
> Many thanks to all the lovely people who helped me along the way with this fic. MountainRose for a truly extraordinary amount of cheerleading, betaing and brainstorming, szzzt for general cheering and the occasional semicolon and poetry who was so positive and lovely about this fic.
> 
> And finally, many thanks to my teachers in rope and my local rope scene, especially those of you took a chance on me when I was first starting. You've all taught me so much about this beautiful art. I hope I do it justice. 
> 
> In-depth (spoilery) warnings for posted chapters in the end notes. Contact me if you'd like warnings for unposed chapters.

_“You used to call me on my cellphone...”_

Alec Hardison grabbed his hands down and then back in time to the words. _“You used to– used to…”_ His feet and hips grooved out to the music in his ears as he walked down the hallway to the studio. 

_“I know when that hotline bling– That can only mean one thing…”_ His head bobbed up and down and he started humming along, reaching into his pocket for the keys. He was only momentarily thwarted by his own wriggling. _“Ever since I left the city, you,_ hmm~, _got a reputationnn…”_

Keys found, he slipped them into the lock and opened the door. Light flooded the hallway and the smell of rope dust and straw filled his nose. He felt his face open into a smile. 

_“You used to call me on my cell phone, late night when you need my love,_ ooh, _Call me on my cellphone...”_ The door clicked behind him and he started properly singing along. 

“I know when that hotline bling!” Alec sang out as he continued down the small corridor into the main room of the studio, toeing off his shoes and chucking them on the shelf with the rest. After a second, he shifted them so they weren’t actively squashing Parker’s running shoes (she’d be unhappy if they did) before catching back up to his song with a (tuneful) mumble. 

“That can only mean one thing...I know when that hotline bling… That can only mean one thing,” he jammed as he turned and walked away from the large windows towards the small kitchenette, goal clear in his mind. 

“Ever since I left the city!” Alec opened the fridge and took out a bottle of the most glorious brain fuel ever invented. He turned back and started towards his office, using it as a microphone. “Youuuuu-!”

The bottle of orange soda fell to the floor and rolled away as Alec watched a dark figure peel off the wall and start walking towards him, a solid bulk of muscle and brawn in steel toe cap boots. 

Alec’s hands raised to the sky. “Um man, you take whatever you want, okay? Not gonna do anything to stop you, my hands are way up here, you just take the TV or whatever, it’s beautiful, and also right there,” he babbled. “Though maybe not the computer because that’s got some code I was working on and it’s for, like, a top secret project, you know, so I’m not allowed to back it up onto the cloud or anything which really tells you how little they know about me really ‘cause I’ve got one of the best security setups in the business, you know what I mean? Seriously, they trust me with the job but not my system, what even is--”

“Don’t you ever shut up?” a rough voice growled. With the afternoon light shining through the west facing windows, he was backlit to hell and back leaving his voice emerging from a dark maw. A hole in space.

Alec whimpered. In like a manly way. Because it was manly to whimper in this kind of situation when you were about to be killed for the code you were writing for the CIA. 

“Dude, you're still talking,” said the assassin of the night, having a legitimate L’Oréal moment and fluffing his hair of infinite darkness back behind his ears. “Look is this Parker’s studio? Are you Parker? Because no offense but I was told that Parker was a girl.”

“Hey,” replied Alec’s mouth before his brain could catch up to him. “I could be a girl. I mean I'm not, but don't judge gender on someone’s presentation. I could be Parker.”

Scary dude paused. 

_“My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!”_ sang his earbuds from where they had fallen on his chest. 

The guy raised an eyebrow. A judgemental eyebrow.

“Don't judge, dude, sometimes a guy’s just got to flaunt it to some R&B.”

More silence from Mr. Grumpy. Now that the guy had moved into the kitchenette, his face was lit for the first time revealing straight shoulder length hair and ice cold blue eyes. Also some seriously judgy eyebrows. 

(That was way too many uses of the word judge and its derivatives in one go.)

“Really? No love for my girl Kelis?” He fiddled for the pause button without looking. “That’s just wrong, dude.” Would serve him right if he blasted it but luckily for him, Alec Hardison had more class than that. 

With deliberate gestures he wrapped them up and put them in his pocket, still talking. “That song went gold and was nominated for a Grammy. Respect the song, respect it.”

The guy gave him another menacing look and Alec stopped talking because growing up black in America he’d learnt to make it look like he was listening to the scary white men even when they were the ones who had invaded his space. His office. Well, Parker’s technically but the office was definitely at least 51% his.

Okay, maybe 49% his.

“Look, I’m just looking for Parker. Do you know which studio’s theirs?” asked the guy and yep that was a growl that was threatening to escape him. Still he got points for the ‘theirs’.

“Yeah, yeah, this is the place,” replied Hardison as he backed slowly out of the kitchen. “I’m just going to, um, check you out– off in the appointment book. In the office. Over there.” 

With that he made his swift escape to the office, shutting the door right behind him before running over to his computer. At least that was safe. And wasn't going to murder him. 

He was still cuddling his desktop when there was a knock on the office door. 

“You forgot your orange soda, man,” the man said, with an edge of irritation. Minus the growl, it pointed clearly to origins in the south. 

“It’s okay,” Alec replied quickly. “Don't want it anymore.” Maybe he could hide out here until the scary man went away. Then he could track him down online and show him the true power of the geek.

His stomach growled. 

His poor orange soda, left out there, defenseless…

Besides, if he was lying and really was a government spy, what was the chance that he’d try to lure Alec out with a soda when he could probably break down the cheap, plywood door in one blow? (Note to self: Get heavier office door.)

Alec looked at the door for a long moment before he walking over and opening it a hair’s breadth. The dude was still lurking there. As the door opened wider he extended the orange soda.

Alec reached out and grabbed it with a nod of thanks even though trying to play it cool was pretty pointless by now.

The dude nodded back before walking back to the piece of wall he’d be leaning against when Alec had walked in.

 

“And it's Eliot.”

“Huh?” 

The guy, Eliot, gestured his head towards to the door and the computer inside. “Eliot Spencer. For the appointment book.” Alec thought he saw a touch of amusement pulling at the corners of his eyes.

“Uh, right,” replied Hardison. That probably crossed government assassin and thief off the list. 

He gave another nod and, apparently satisfied, the guy went back to motionlessly leaning against the wall. 

Now that he wasn’t being all growly and hiding in dark corners like a bad knockoff of Angel, he wasn’t unpleasant to look at. He was pretty short, actually, more than a head shorter than Alec, but he also looked like he was built as fuck under his dark button up so it wasn't like his height, or lack thereof, actually made him less intimidating. His brow looked like it never stopped scowling. 

He had long hair, and now that it wasn't hanging menacingly around a shadowy face, it was clear that it was well maintained. Clear that he was more than a little bit attractive. 

He gulped a little then, and, realizing he was staring, Alec cleared his throat and rubbed his hand against his own hair, short, even if he did spend more than his fair share of time on it every morning. 

He gave Eliot's another look. 

Maybe still not as much as time as Eliot did; he still looked like he could be in a damn L'Oreal commercial.

“You’re more than welcome to the couch.” He pointed to the corner sofa that lay opposite the windows, snuggled against the kitchenette’s counter.

Eliot didn’t move.

Alec shrugged, he’d offered, and then went back into the office, leaving the door ajar out of a (possibly misplaced) sense of manners, and settling down in front of his baby. 

Now that he wasn’t having a heart attack he stopped to wonder what Eliot wanted to see Parker about. Alec hoped he wasn’t some local hotshot Dom who wanted to throw his weight around and show off his dick to the newcomer in town. Not that it would matter if he was, Parker would swat him down easy, but he’d sort of thought they'd been here long enough for them to run out.

That’d be a bit much to hope for, he thought to himself. As far as he could tell there was a never ending supply.

Joy.

Still, that was a worst case scenario. Twisting open the bottle and taking a sip, he typed in his password and scanned his thumb. Maybe he was a new student who wanted to learn self-suspension from Parker or how to tie. His bottom could be running late.

A few quick clicks later and he had his answer.

 _Eliot Spencer_. 

_3:00pm to 4:30pm_

_Bottoming session._

Alec’s eyebrows shot up before he forced them down wryly. And here he’d been jumping down the guy’s neck about assumptions. _Assume makes an ass out of u and me_ , he thought, shaking his head. The guy was probably way more nervous than Alec had been. Would explain all the growling and leaning up against the wall business. 

Queuing up _Hotline Bling_ once more on his phone, Alec pulled up his code and started typing. Within minutes he’d opened another window and was switching back and forth between the two projects, a video of a baby rhino trying to prance like a lamb playing in the background for when he needed a moment of procrastination. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One warnings: none


	2. Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally part of Chapter One.

Eliot went back to holding up the wall, wiping condensation off his palm from the orange soda. The guy had gone back into his office but he’d left the door open a crack, this time and that made it easier to wait. She still wasn’t late, he was just… committed to being on time. 

He chuckled a little, internally, before giving the room another look over. From his position, he could see most of the main room but was also, as the guy had discovered, reasonably inconspicuous. He seriously considered the couch, but it had its back to the dark loft space, and kitchen with its knife block. Not an option. The tatami mat that extended over most of the floor smelled real and the wooden rig above was solid. He’d tested it when he’d first come in. It was drilled into the concrete pillars and with just enough give to allow the wood to warp without splitting. The rig had held easily when he’d done some chin-ups on it. Quality construction.

Of course, he still had to meet Parker, the actual rigger. Sophie Devereaux had recommended her, though ‘recommended’ was a generous word for what Devereaux had done. He scowled.

He wasn’t sure what Devereaux thought he would get from this. Wasn't even sure why he was here. 

Desperation maybe.

He heard a rustling above and to the left, and turned towards it immediately, body tense. It came from the loft that hung over the kitchenette. He’d thought he’d been the only one in the room when he’d arrived but clearly he’d been mistaken. Sloppy of him. Just because he was out of the game didn't mean the rest of the players had forgotten about him. He’d made plenty of enemies in his time. 

He narrowed his eyes and loosened his body, ready to fight, as he watched a lithe figure emerge from the shadows. They walked silently off the edge of the loft and onto the top of the cupboard. He’d catalogued the room and any potential weapons from the moment he’d walked in, on reflex. The rig was too solid to use but his opponent might take advantage of it given their comfort with acrobatics; they stepped down from the kitchenette’s counter and from there onto the floor. Barefoot. 

Eliot spared a moment to be sorry for the countertops and reminded himself to let the owners know that they’d need to wipe them down. They deserved to know even if the contents of their fridge had been bad even for a workspace (An old, half-eaten container of noodles had been the orange sodas’ only companion). 

He nodded at the woman in front of him, fists slightly raised, ready to counter her first move. She was slim and petite but her arms were covered in lean and toned muscle. She’d be fast and tricky. Would try to use his weight against him. His goal was containment, keep her from hurting the man in the office. Then he could extract the necessary information from her. 

The woman paused, just outside punching distance. Her face was smooth of all emotions, eyes slightly narrowed. Studying his form. Eliot smiled a little. He hadn't had a good fight in a long time. She would definitely be a good fight. 

They circled each other, neither making the first play. 

She was almost silent, and when she stopped, she made about as much noise as the empty air she’d displaced. 

Now that she was closer, her eyes looked empty, like pools of still, dark water. 

Eliot had met people who’d looked at him like that before. Snipers, mostly. 

Didn't matter though. Eliot could out wait snipers and he’d out wait her. If he went first, she’d use his momentum against him and have the advantage. 

She paused in her circling then cocked her head. “Are you Eliot?” Her voice was surprisingly light compared to most of the people in their profession. 

Eliot nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off hers. Definitely a pro. He wondered who’d hired her. He’d find out soon enough. 

Her face opened at his answer, an expression not quite like glee transforming her face. She bounced towards him, holding out her hand. “Excellent, I’m Parker. Sophie said you were an unusual client.”

He pulled his fists back and stood down abruptly. “Damnit, didn't anyone teach you that it’s rude to not introduce yourself? I could’ve hurt you,” he growled. 

She cocked her head again, her eyes scrunched as though in confusion. “I just did! It’s not my fault you didn't hear me come in through the front door!”

That implied she’d come in through the front door and then climbed up to her loft before coming down. He checked his watch; 3:00pm to within thirty seconds. Damn, after that display with the loft he could almost believe it.

He crossed his arms over his chest. What kind of freak show had he walked into? Clearly Devereaux’s supposed powers didn’t work on him. This whole trip had been a waste. An embarrassing one. 

Eliot sighed. The woman, Parker, looked hurt now as well as confused. He hunched his shoulders a bit and put his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, doing his best to look non-threatening. She brightened a touch in turn. 

“Sorry ‘bout the misunderstanding,” he said, soft and gentle; broadcasting, ‘I am not a threat’ as hard as he could. Wasn’t her fault this place wasn’t a good fit for him. 

He took a step towards the door.

“Wait!” 

He paused and turned to look at her again. Her lips were still pressed in line but her eyes were searching instead of hurt.

“You should stay.”

Eliot blinked. She looked awfully sincere, fingers jammed into the pockets of her hoodie too, pulling it down, weight on the balls of her feet. Where was her sense of self-preservation? What sort of person saw a display like that and wanted to top them afterwards? Couldn’t she see that he was a bad time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two warnings: none.


	3. Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally part of Chapter One.

The new client wasn’t like the other people who sometimes came to see her. Most were couples who wanted to be taught techniques so that one could take the other into the air. She knew how to teach that. 

Some wanted to be taught self-suspension, came to her classes and her workshops, wanted to learn how to fly on their own. Those were Parker’s favourite. 

A few were lithe, acrobatic models that glowed for Hardison’s camera. Sometimes she contacted them, sometimes they contacted her. Long sessions with lots of shop talk, them chipping in their ideas and their body’s limits as they workshopped through a new position Parker wanted to make out of them. Lengthy photoshoots where they’d each work together to hit that perfect shot, pushing the limits of their physical and mental endurance.

Parker wasn’t a pro-domme the way Sophie was. Parker made shapes out of people, no more, no less. She couldn’t look at someone the way Sophie could and know their secrets or draw out the things they wanted but pretended they didn’t. Parker wasn’t good at any of those things. Parker was good with rope and tension and muscles and bones and tendons and blood flow.

But she trusted Sophie and Sophie had said that she should take Eliot on. The shows that she did at Sophie and Nate’s club would draw more people to the studio, Sophie had said, if she did a performance with a bottom instead of her usual self-suspension demos. Doing some sessions with a novice if athletic bottom was supposed to help.

Only now, he was trying to run away.

Her brow furrowed at the thought.

He couldn’t run away. Parker had promised Sophie that she’d do a performance with a bottom in a month’s time and if she let this one run away, Sophie had made it clear that she wouldn’t help her find a partner for it.

But Parker wasn’t any good at people. She didn’t know the magic keyword to unlock an Eliot the way Sophie or even Hardison would.

Eliot was still tense and hunched but at least he hadn’t started moving to the door again.

Yet.

His long hair brushed over his shoulders. They’d need to fix that before they started. “Did you bring a hair tie or can I use my rope on it?” she asked, mind caught on the problem. “It’ll get in the way when I tie otherwise.”

He didn’t move any further. That seemed like a good sign. She walked past him and towards the wall where her ropes hung, doubled over so that the rope ends hung together on one side and the bight, where the rope turned back, on the other. Parker went to the end where the shorter lengths lived. She’d only need a couple of inches. Thinner since it would be going into his hair. He’d do best with jute to start. Strong but with some give and a bit of bite. Hemp would be too soft for his taste she thought and would slide out of his hair. Maybe he’d be interested in some coconut rope later on. 

She pulled out a length of blue, 2mm conditioned jute and brought it over to him. He still hadn’t moved.

She held it out. “Can I?”

His mouth opened a fraction. She wondered if that was a good sign, but then he was nodding so she guessed it was.

She walked behind him. Normally she would have asked him to kneel or sit cross legged but he was short enough that she didn’t need to. Holding the rope in one hand, she gathered Eliot’s fine hair into a ponytail and wrapped the bight end of the rope around it twice before tying a simple overhand knot. She doubled over the rest of the ponytail and did another two wraps around the entire mass before pulling the knot ends of the rope through the loop of hair she’d created and from there through the bight. Quickly, she wove the last inch of rope into his hair and out of the way.

She stepped back. The colour suited him. And now his hair wouldn’t get caught in the rope if she did any kind of chest harness. She could even unweave the ends and use them to pull his hair back and with it his head if she needed to down the line. A finishing touch.

She looked away from the rope to the rest of him. He was new, not like the models she was used to working with. She couldn’t count on him to tell her everything, had to read him the way Sophie was trying to teach her.

“How’s that?” Or ask when she couldn’t figure it out. Sophie said that was alright too.

He shuddered a little bit and her eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“It’s,” he paused. “It’s good.”

“Not too tight?” she asked, just to be sure. People liked different things from their hair ties.

He shook his head softly left to right, the bun wrapped in rope swaying with him. 

Parker smiled. She didn’t think he was going to run away anymore.

She turned to look at him head on, looking over his body again. She hadn’t worked with anyone with this kind of body type in ages. He was short and compact, obviously strong even under the hoodie. 

“How strong are you? Can you do a back bridge?” she asked him as she motioned for him to start turning in place. His height should mean that she could get decent leverage on him in spite of their weight difference so even a lift from off the floor was theoretically possible. “I think you should be able to if you have the flexibility in your back…”

The size of his biceps might mean that he’d struggle with the usual chest harness, the TK, but if he couldn’t manage it there were others. Some people found alternative chest harnesses more strenuous because of the increased load on the chest but his strength should mean that they’d be sustainable.

This was going to be great. She would have to remember to thank Sophie.

Speaking of Sophie...

She turned to the table by the couch and then back at Eliot. “Where did you put your paperwork?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t get any.”

Parker turned back to the room, confused. She knew that Hardison was in and even when he was fighting monsters and wizards, he always gave the clients their paperwork. He was the one who’d been insistent about it in the first place. He’d said it was one thing with experienced models who knew what they were in for but another for people who were just starting out. Parker had thought that that made sense. When she’d worked with Archie she’d only tied experienced bottoms and they’d often had stuff like that. Maybe Hardison was sick? 

She looked at Eliot again. She needed his paperwork. 

But they’d been getting somewhere with the scene and now they were going to lose the energy that had started building and he might spook.

It didn’t matter. The paperwork was a rule. She’d just have to build the energy back up again when they’d finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three warnings: none.


	4. Hardison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lightshadowversimilitude for pinch betaing this for me at very short notice and very quickly :) All errors are mine (just manages to sneak it in by Friday).
> 
> Originally Chapter Two.

“Hardison,” rang out Parker’s voice a good twenty minutes after he’d gotten into the groove.

Alec jumped in his chair and turned to see Parker in the doorframe. “Yeah, mama?” Damn that girl could sneak into places like nobody's business. The world was lucky she’d gone into rope and kept thieving as the hobby.

“Why doesn’t Eliot have his paperwork signed yet?” she asked, her face adorably scrunched up. “Are you sick?”

“No I’m not sick. I, um,” Alec started feeling for the stacks of liability waivers and other forms behind him. 

Parker looked at him, eyebrows pulled together as though he was a knot she was about to unravel. 

Alec opened his mouth to improv through an explanation but she waved him away before he could. “Okay. Can you bring out the usual stack while I do the initial talk through?”

“Uhuh, will do,” replied Alec, nodding as he did and trying not to look like the reason he’d forgotten was because he’d been too busy screaming like a little baby. 

When she turned and walked away he sighed and patted his computer fondly. “I’ll be back soon, be a good girl.”

Gathering up the necessary paperwork, Alec trudged into the main room.

“-and here’s the key you left with the concierge at the desk, ma– Thanks,” Eliot was saying, a little haltingly as he handed it over to Parker. 

“Aha! The door was locked when I came in! I was totally right to be freaked out!”

Two blank faces turned to look at him.

“Oh, there’s two of you now?” Alec said, disparagingly.

They turned back to each other.

“You just gonna ignore me? Because let me tell you I grew up with lots of siblings and I will not be beaten by those tricks, no siree. I’m an expert–”

“Hardison,” interrupted Parker, reaching out a hand.

“Uhuh?” replied Hardison, monologue derailed.

“The paperwork?”

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, mama,” Hardison said, walking over to where Parker was perched on the couch’s arm. Eliot had moved to sit on the edge of the table, giving Parker a good two inches on him. “Don’t either of you plan on using this couch for its intended purpose?”

Two more sets of blank faces.

“How is it that y’all are acting like I’m the one that’s weird here,” muttered Hardison as he came to stand next to Parker. “First thing first,” he handed over the small manual he’d put together for this very purpose. The safety speil was his favourite part of the talk. He’d originally considered an AV presentation but Parker had talked him out of it. “Here’s your manual, you can take that home with you. Now, if you’ll turn to page five,” Eliot did looking a little begrudging. Alec pushed forwards anyways. 

“What Parker does here isn't safe and could result in a variety of injuries including, but not limited to, temporary or permanent nerve damage. As per figure three, the most common injury is wrist drop. Now that is no fun at all.” He flopped his hand in demonstration, liking like a rag doll. “Look at that, no way you can type for at least a day or two and it could be a lot longer. Parker once knew a guy who'd gotten wrist drop just before his big exam and couldn't even hold a pencil. Not the sort of thing you want to be explaining to your prof, I’m just saying.” 

Eliot narrowed his eyes further and further with each digression. Alec had no idea what he was scowling at him about, this was important shit and interesting too. 

A nudge from Parker though and he went back in track. “The floppy wrist happens when a nerve on your upper arm, as shown on figure five, is impinged but it can happen anywhere there’s a nerve close to the surface. Down by your hips, etc.” 

Beside him, Parker was eying Eliot distractedly, probably planning out the rope session. Some help she was even if she had heard it a thousand times. Alec sighed internally, didn't anyone appreciate the research that had gone into this speech?

Eliot was, at least, looking less scowly now and his eyes serious if unsurprised. Maybe he’d done his research ahead of time. 

He continued. “Parker will check in with you as she goes by asking you to squeeze her hand as hard as you can.” He held out his hand, bracing himself. “Squeeze.”

Eliot raised his eyebrow and Alex bristled a little but in another moment Eliot’s hand was in his. Thickly calloused and muscled if a little smaller than Alec's was his first impression before his poor right hand was being squeezed to within an inch of its life. In another moment it was released and Eliot was grinning (or what Alec assumed was grinning on someone who appeared to only posses micro expressions). Alec shook out his hand, looking sorrowfully down at it as he got blood flowing through it again. 

As Alec continued to resuscitate his hand, Parker took up the rest of the speech. “A lot of the positions, especially the chest harnesses, can lead to circulation restriction,” Parker said in her rapid fire professional voice. “Circulation restriction can hide nerve injuries because you can stop feeling the limb. That’s why I’ll ask you to squeeze my hand. If the problem's circulation, they’ll be weakness throughout the hand. If the problem’s nerve impingement, depending on the nerve, only some of your fingers will be affected. Circulation problems aren't a big deal because I won't be leaving you up there long enough. But tell me if it happens anyways.”

Eliot’s eyebrows had raised a little. He didn't look any less serious than he had listening to Alec but he looked a little taken aback at Parker’s matter of fact tone and rapid fire speech. 

Good, Alec thought and he turned to smile at her as her hand moved to rest on Alec’s shoulder. 

Damn but she was incredible, he thought as she pushed up his sleeve, using his arm to demonstrate the danger zone in the lower half of the bicep where nerve impingement happened most often. Her small hands were sure and strong as she laid her fingers across the muscle to mimic the rope. 

“Here’s the liability waiver. You acknowledge that you’re aware of the risks that you are taking by bottoming with Parker.” He pulled the waiver off the clipboard and handed it and a pen over. “Write your name at the top, initial here and sign at the bottom. I’ll witness when you’re done,” he said as her fingers pulled away from his arm, leaving him suddenly chilly and he pulled down his t-shirt's sleeve, rubbing his hand along the spot where she had touched. 

Eliot stood and took both, bending over the table to sign and incidentally showing off a very fine ass through his jeans. Da-amn.

Eliot rolled back up and outstretched his arm. 

After a few moments, Alec got an elbow to the side and he reached out to take the form back from him. “And then there’s the medical form where you let Parker know any past injuries or ongoing medical conditions so that she can take those into account when she’s doing the scene, make sure she doesn’t cause any pain she doesn’t intend on causing.”

He winked at Eliot but Eliot wasn't looking amused. 

Eliot locked eyes with Parker, ignoring Alec completely. “It’s going to be a long list.”

Parker gave him a once over with her eyes before nodding, serious. “Limit it to ongoing medical conditions, current injuries and any recent or serious breaks.”

Alec glanced between them disbelievingly. Who was this guy?

Eliot’s face softened and his eyes bowed slowly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Hardison felt a shiver go through Parker’s body next to him. He waited but the expected reply never emerged. He only barely prevented himself from whistling. He guessed that this Eliot guy must have hit some of Parker’s own buttons if she was going to let him call her that. 

As he turned back to look at Eliot, he saw that he’d started stripping with the speed and nonchalance of someone who’d long gotten over any body shyness. First the hoodie, then the button up shirt, revealing a white tank top underneath. Now that he was paying attention, it was clear that he had a length of thin blue rope wound through his hair and pulling it away from his face.

“My emergency medical contact is Toby Heath, there’s the number,” Eliot was saying. “No existing medical conditions. My right arm’s had some scar tissue build-up but I have full range of motion,” he continued as he demonstrated just that. 

Alec tried not to whimper and forced himself to focus on the page enough to write it down. Eliot had broad and thickly muscled shoulders. His arms were thicker than Alec’s own legs and flexed attractively with every movement. The thin jersey of his tank top didn’t do much to hide his rippling pecs or abs.

“Most of my ribs have been broken but everything should all be fully healed.” Alec held his breath wondering if the top would come off but Eliot’s hands kept moving down before starting on the fastenings on his jeans. That could work too.

Next to Alec, Parker was nodding, eyes focused. “They’ll still be weaker so I’ll stay away from harnesses that are anchored on the chest alone.”

Fastenings undone, Eliot quickly shucked off the jeans, revealing tight boxer briefs. “The left knee’s accumulated some wear and tear but there’s no surgery. Right knee, both sides of my groin, ankles and back have all had strains… Healed okay.”

“We’ll do any single leg work on your right leg then,” Parker said consideringly. “How does the left handle torque left to right?”

“Any kind of torque’s better done on the other leg,” replied Eliot with a shrug. 

Parker hummed. Alec tried to fight the growing dread that was filling him with every injury he wrote down. How the hell did a person get beat up like this?

“The left can handle weight being put on it?” Parker asked.

Eliot nodded, leaning back into his hips, arms at ease by his side. No body shyness whatsoever. “That should be fine,” he replied, voice soft and smooth.

“Anything else?”

Eliot shrugged. “Two concussions and a bunch of minor head traumas.”

Parker titled her head consideringly. “How recent?”

“Couple’a years since the last one, now.” Eliot said, still at ease.

Alec’s eyes trailed over him again but this time he wasn’t admiring his musculature. Scattered over his skin were scars, different shapes and sizes, some long and spindly, others craters. Alec gulped. He’d seen enough of those growing up to have a pretty good idea what sort of weapons would cause those kinds of marks. Next to him, Parker was still nonplused, working through the problem.

“I’ve broken all the fingers in my left hand and my middle finger through my pinkie on my right,” continued Eliot, slow and steady, carrying on like this was no big deal.

Alec fought the urge to gag, trying to stop the images of what could have caused those injuries from piling up behind his eyes. He saw Parker shooting him a look and figured he wasn’t controlling his expression as well as he’d thought.

He took a breath and wrote down the finger breaks. The sketch of a figure on the sheet was littered with red circles.

“Oh,” started Eliot, lingering on the pause. 

Alec held his breath for the next horror. 

“And I broke both bones in my left forearm as a kid.” 

Alec thought he could see amusement in the outer corner of his eyes. How’d the fucker think this was funny?

“Alright, Hardison’s going to get us some water,” said Parker before she elbowed him again and pulled the clipboard from his hand, gesturing towards the kitchenette with her eyes, trying and failing to be subtle. Still Alec nodded and took the excuse, making a vague ‘excuse me’ head gesture to Eliot as he left.

In the background he could hear her explaining the last sheet where Eliot could mark any triggers or squicks but he ignored it, pulling out a bottle of orange soda from the fridge and sipping it slowly. So the guy had been through some bad shit. Whatever, Parker would know how to handle it. He set out a bottle of water for each of them, well in reach of the mat workspace.

He hadn’t been so far off with the assassin of the night, he thought, filled with dark humour and barely stopped himself from a bitter laugh.

Shaking his head, he gathered up the orange soda and a pizza pocket and dropped them off in the office. Hearing the conversation come to a lull he walked back out to main area. Parker was leaning forward towards Eliot, a smile dancing at the edges of her face, her eyebrows locked in fierce concentration, undoubtedly working out how to solve the scene ahead of them.

Alec smiled at the image. Parker did everything so intensely and he knew she’d been struggling still with the new city. It was nice to see her clicking with someone. “Can I grab those papers for you, mama?” Alec asked.

Even if that someone was an assassin of the night.

Parker turned, throwing him a thin, conspiratorial smile and Alec felt his own grow wider in response. He turned to the table only to find Eliot looking at the two of them with something in his eyes though damn if Alec knew him well enough to say what. 

“Oh,” said Parker and Alec turned back to face her. “Before you take those I need you for one more thing.”

Alec nodded. Parker stood, gesturing for Eliot to follow. “Stand with your hands loose at your sides, arms relaxed,” she instructed him. Alec watched as tension visibly left the other man’s shoulders.

She nodded at him and then moved behind him. “If something doesn’t feel right, tell me,” she said and then captured his wrists in her small hands before slowly bring them up his back so that they came to rest on opposite sides of the body, forearms parallel to the floor. She studied the resulting shape for a while. Eliot’s hands didn’t come as far across his back as some of Parker’s models had but for a guy with arms as big as he did, his flexibility was pretty damn impressive. More importantly, they crossed far enough to allow a clear strip of arm where the first rope would be tied, anchoring the rest of the harness.

“Any tenderness?” she asked as her eyes traced along the line of his shoulders. 

Eliot shook his head softly, brow tilted forwards. “No, ma’am.”

Parker nodded sharply. “Hardison, hold here,” she directed. 

Alec paused, momentarily surprised. She asked him to lift her out of a self-tie that had gone wrong once but never to touch a client before. He nodded anyways before catching Eliot’s eyes. “Okay if I touch?”

Eliot’s eyebrows rose for a split second before he nodded and Alec replaced Parker’s small hands with his own. His tendons flexed and relaxed under Alec’s grip, wrists thick with them. They were warm under Alec’s palms. All that muscle mass led to a high metabolism and the body heat to match. He smelt like what Alec imagined men were supposed to smell like under the hegemonic patriarchy: sweat and leather and a hint of musk. Alec tried not to flush.

Over Eliot’s head he watched Parker catalogue Eliot’s body, paying special attention to his shoulders. She traced her hands along them before asking, “Can you relax these any more?”

Eliot stilled underneath Alec’s clasp and Alec felt his back expand as he took in a deep breath before releasing it. The shoulders sank down.

“Still good?” Parker asked and Eliot nodded again.

She studied him for a moment longer before nodding once more. “Okay, Hardison you can let go now.”

Alec obeyed and stepped away, nodding at Eliot in acknowledgment. Eliot responded in kind and Alec tried not to feel chilly without the body heat Eliot had been leaking. 

“I’ll just grab this paperwork and put it on file,” he said, trying to sound cool. “You two crazy kids have fun,” he added as he picked up the clipboard and felt it land when Parker smiled at him for a second time that day. 

They’d be fine, he thought, as he closed the door behind him and gathered Eliot’s paperwork into a new folder.

For now, he had some code to write and some leather to farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four warnings: significant past injuries.


	5. Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally part of Chapter Two (now Chapter Four).

Parker hadn’t flinched once.

The other guy, Hardison, had behaved exactly how Eliot had expected him to, the way people always did. The growing horror of what had been done to his body, what Eliot had done to his own body in service to others.

But not Parker with her strange mirror-like eyes and her fast, matter of fact talk of safety and nerve impingement. Of course he knew those pressure points well but he always liked seeing someone do their job well.

Her professionalism was more than he had hoped for. Maybe Devereaux hadn’t been so wrong after all.

He doubted that she would have flinched either though for different reasons than Parke he figured.

Parker was still assessing his body as he quickly filled out the last form, his limits. No fluids, no sexual contact. Nothing weird.

Parker gave a sharp nod when she finished looking through the list he’d presented her with. He could still feel the weight of her rope in his hair, keeping it out his face, not hiding anything from her gaze.

“We’ll start simple for this first session and you can see how you like the sensations and the head space. We use the stoplight system here so if I ask you for a color, green is all good, yellow is slow down/back off and red is full stop. Got it?”

Eliot gave a nod of his own.

“Yes, ma’am.” The words rolled off his tongue automatically and her eyes widened a touch. Autonomic nervous arousal.

Eliot let his own eyes slip away and down to the floor, feeling the weight of that gaze on him, cataloguing him.

It reminded him of those moments before a fight when each fighter sized up the competition.

“What I’m wearing okay, ma’am?” Eliot asked. All that was left was tight boxers.

“If you’re comfortable?”

Eliot nodded.

“The rope behaves better on skin.”

A beat.

“Start out kneeling in the centre of the mats,” Parker instructed clearly. She threw a pillow towards him. “On this.”

Eliot placed himself, the soothing smell of the tatami filling his nose, his back straight and shoulders back. With the pillow under his knees and shins, he’d be able to maintain this position for a while. It smelled so similar to that old studio that he fell into the deep, rhythmic breathing pattern that they had trained into his bones.

He could see her out of the corners of his eyes as she walked towards the ropes, the falls of her feet soft even in the quiet of the studio.

Without her eyes on him his brain started second guessing again. He had just started to think better of this whole farce when her voice rang out. “Eyes closed and palms up.”

Eliot obeyed, feeling the hum of his muscles as he held the position. At the moment it was easy but he knew that in several minutes his arms would start to grow tired, his palms to shake.

It didn’t matter. She had ordered, he would obey to the best of his body’s ability. His eyes softened and his breathing deepened again.

There was a pause and then the sound of the rough fibers gliding across smooth wood as she chose her ropes one by one from the wooden dowel where they hung. It was a very distinctive sound.

Time passed, maybe five minutes by his internal clock. The work to keep his palms up and steady used enough of his brain that his mind could stay quiet. His brain hadn’t been this quiet in a couple of months. Cooking was good and required focus of course but not enough. Maybe when he’d fought those guys for Toby. Even then his guilt had intruded sometimes, beating years of training to keep it smooth and flat as he fought. Shameful.

He heard her finish and tried to bring his focus back to his breathing and to his palms. His moment of distraction had caused them to start to shake. He brought them back under control.

She walked softly until she was a presence at his back. Like this, she was a good couple of feet taller.

The first touch of rope was on his left shoulder, the rough strands being pulled tight against his skin.

He shivered involuntarily as she continued to drag it along the back of his shoulder from left to right, the rope tight in her hands. He could feel the pull of her muscles in the rope, the slightest micromovement being translated.

The rope reversed, coming back towards his left shoulder. In another moment her right arm was over his head and drawing the bight from his left shoulder across the broad expanse of his chest. The weight of the rope felt like a brand as it was wrapped around him with practiced deliberation. He breathed and in the next breath that he let out, the rope was cinched in, a straight line across his whole body. The firm compression pressed through his muscles and deeper into his bones.

He gasped a little at the sensation, head falling back and eyes towards the ceiling. He was really doing this. He was being restrained by Parker’s steady, firm hands.

He took a breath to control the surge of feelings. Already it was slightly shallower. The rope didn’t allow his chest to expand to its full capacity. The figments of panic that his brain sent out automatically at the restriction were easy to bat away.

He breathed again.

She secured the large wrap in place against his chest with a quick cinch under each of his armpits in turn. With each one the line against his chest grew even tighter. Eliot let out a small exhale, an unconscious sigh of air into the dark.

Another breath and Parker had him in another wrap, this one under his pecs.

There wasn't any doubt in her movements and barely any time between ties for Eliot to think. All there was was her. Even the rope just felt like an extension of her.

More quick movements behind his back but he didn't try to figure them out this time, to parse them.

His weight sank into the rope.

In another long breath, Parker was reaching over his shoulder and from there crossing his chest with the rope, pulling it around his obliques, between his upper arm and the rest of his body.

His hands trembled a little as he strained to hold them up and his forearms perpendicular to the rest of his body.

Another diagonal across his chest, this time starting from the opposite shoulder.

He was spread open in front of her, arms now fully restrained. Every part of his upper body bore her brand from the upper arms that were locked against his torso to the hands he held out at her order.

In deliberate steps, she came from behind him, holding the rope between them taut. With a quick gesture of her fingers, Eliot felt her lock down the two diagonals without a moment of hesitation.

She continued her journey around him, the rope a live wire between them until she grounded it in the mass of ropes behind his back.

The warmth of her body and the soft, padding footsteps came back around in front of him, a new rope shushing over the mats. With her empty hand, his palms were turned so that they faced each other, maybe a first apart with his forearms still perpendicular to the rest of his torso.

The rope was quickly wrapped around his wrists three times, before she drew it between his hands. The direction of the rope changed, then, so that it could be wrapped around the rope between his hands. There was a breath and then she suddenly pulled the lines tight, binding like spreader cuffs; his wrists held together but apart, the knots firmly out of his reach.

Eliot shuddered underneath her hands as she finished tying off the cuffs, the tension stabilising, turning permanent. But the tie did nothing to offset the strain on his arms as he fought to keep holding his forearms up as Parker had instructed.

Momentarily overwhelmed, his now-immobilized torso swayed in Parker’s hands but his core held and the legs below stayed rock solid, keeping him up in the high kneel, his shins ground firm into the pillow.

Parker’s hands were suddenly in his. “Squeeze, hard as you can.”

The rhythm of his breath stuttered for a moment but he obeyed. She had ordered and for once he had little doubt that she could take it.

Her hands stayed in his without the hint of a flinch and her eyes were pleased and excited.

His heart rose, suddenly desperate to make her look that way again and unable to imagine what more of this might feel like.

The sound of another length of rope being snaked off the ground. It was pulled around his waist, as tight as any of the others, digging in like it could cut him right in half. From there the length of rope was pulled down from his navel towards his groin before it was wrapped behind and around his hips, locked down between his thighs. With each shift around him he could feel the force of her in the entire length of the rope, even down in the ends far away from her hands. It thrummed with her like a living extension of her arm. Another tight turn and then the rope came together again with the waist wrap, feeling just like a climbing harness.

And with that, his lower body was in her hands as well.

A pause.

(Was she studying the lines of rope across his body?)

Then, he felt her hands curl into the centre of each harness. In another moment he was being lifted, slowly but surely, held like he was a square bale of hay. It couldn’t have been more than an inch but it was enough to transfer his weight onto the ropes, to have them dig in ever deeper, anchoring deep into his bones.

His head dropped back, baring his throat.

Another pull and release.

“How are your knees in this position?”

Eliot blinked, opening his eyes to a world gone soft and hazy, Parker's eyes pinning him in place. He wet dry lips as his brain tried to understand the question. Oh. She was worried if the high kneel was putting too much strain on his knees.

“Green,” Eliot managed to reply, the tail of the word almost disappearing into the air.

She gave a nod and a considering look before she was pulling out yet more rope. Unlike the other lengths, this was threaded through the hip harness before being drawn up through a carabiner on the overhead rig and then back through the hip harness. She applied force on the rope and his hips rose a touch, taking some weight off his knees. She quickly locked it off and then another joined it, this time from his chest harness, steadying him in the upright position.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered and he did.

He felt her unlock the hip line, his chest still supported. He breathed. In one firm movement he felt his hips lift up and suddenly he was flying in spite of his knees and shins, still touching the ground.

The chest line was loosened and then there was a hand on his shoulder, guiding his shoulders back into a gentle backbend. He followed, sinking deeper and deeper into the bend every time she loosened the line.

The position crashed even more of his weight into his hip lines and he could feel the rope digging tightly into his waist, a burning line, an anchor in the midst of flight.

One more step back and then no more as he felt the chest line being locked into place once more.

He wondered for a moment how far back he really had bent. With his eyes closed, it was a little hard to tell. A line stretched from his knees all the way to his chest, his chest open to her, every vulnerable spot on display. Only his forearms remained outstretched, lifting upwards even as the rest of his torso was in free fall.

“Euhg.” A small sound in the room. His voice?

He was falling deeper and deeper into the ropes, deeper and deeper into the backbend. His core and back muscles worked to maintain the strenuous position, the intensity of the position giving him no room for other thoughts.

His breaths were even shallower now, the position restricting the expansion of his lungs.

There was a hand in his hair and then his head too was pulled back into the backbend from its rope, tied off into the mass of ropes at his back.

His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth as it tried to bring in more air with the increased strain and then he forced it to release, forced his brain to accept that the shallower breaths would be enough.

The nameless man sank deeper into the cords, muscles and tendons trembling, entirely in service to Parker and her rope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Five warnings: subspace.


	6. Parker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally part of Chapter Two (now Chapter Four).

Parker watched Eliot’s muscled body sink further into the rope and the backbend; his lower legs anchored the position, the backbend now stretching from his knees all the way to his head, pulled back by his hair to complete the arc. His back was almost horizontal to the floor, about a foot above.

In direct contrast to the backbend she had moved his body into, his forearms were still held out in front of him by nothing more than his willpower and her order.

It was a heady combination.

It was a distinctly vulnerable position. He’d feel like he was forever falling backwards, unable to catch himself.

She shivered a little.

Parker grabbed for another length of rope, watching the body caught between the lines of rope.

“Color,” she asked again.

Eliot managed another green, voice light and husky from the restrictions the position put on his breathing.

She let him hang there, partially suspended for a few moments longer, watching his diaphragm rise and fall against the tension of his own muscles.

She hadn’t expected to take him quite this far. A gentler backbend had been the plan.

Well supported.

Easy.

It would have provided intensity without being too hard on any of his past injuries. most of the weight could be spread across his upper chest and arms, and his hips. The only area of concern had been whether it would be too hard on his injured knee even with the pillow but a block under his hips and back would have provided extra support so she hadn't been too worried.

Only he’d kept sinking deeper into the rope and her hands had worked with what her eyes had seen and now they were here. A partial suspension on his first day; him almost in what would be a full camel pose in yoga.

She did a couple of quick wraps around each of thighs in turn while she thought, just because she could, watching the rope dig into the different muscle groups.

She’d never tied someone with his body type before. The heavy musculature provided a different kind of resistance under the rope and her hands. Between that and his obvious training he’d probably be able to handle the pose for quite a while even though he was a novice.

She bet he’d be able to hold a single futo for ages, the muscles serving to spread the weight that the rope would press into his thighs. All of his body weight, suspended by wraps around single leg, bent back at his good knee.

He’d take it, she thought. Look how well he’s taken this. The deep backbend was one of the most strenuous positions to be put in, even when it was only a partial.

He had more flexibility than she’d anticipated for someone with his body type. She suspected his hips and shoulders were less flexible from the muscle bulk alone but this kind of flexibility meant that he was actively training to prevent the decline in flexibility that occurred with the obvious weight lifting.

She took another breath, wishing she’d had him sign a release ahead of time so that she could photograph him. She wanted to anyways and then if he said no afterwards she could just delete it but that sounded like the sort of thing that Hardison would call bad. She didn’t want to be bad.

She pressed the image into her brain as hard as she could.

A breath and then her hands were in the ropes, pulling them away from his body, releasing him to the world again.

She undid the hair tie first, supporting his neck with an outstretched foot instead. Next she unlocked both of the lines, holding one in each hand. With a steady flex of her shoulders, hands locked on the robe so it wouldn’t slide, she slowly released them both, letting Eliot’s body down to the ground bit by bit. For several moments, he hung entirely in her hands as she worked her core and weight to ensure a smooth landing.

It was an unusually heady feeling.

Once his back was resting flush against the floor, she withdrew her foot. Lines now slack, she pulled them out of the beeners and discarded them on the floor.

His eyes were still closed.

Subspace. A little unusual for her but some of the models sometimes fell in. She'd need to be more thorough with the aftercare.

She started on the thigh wraps, rope still under tension as she undid the tie. Free of their restraints, his thighs began to splay open a little, the hard body soft under her hands.

Trust.

His back was still flat against the ground just like it was supposed to be. His back muscles needed to relax in the position so that they could get back to normal.

She gave his knees a small pat of thanks. They’d put in a lot of hard work. Done a good job.

She moved onto the double column around his wrists. His arms had to be tired by now but still he held them out firm, not the hint of a shake. She undid the knots and then began the unwrapping, keeping the rope under tension and control so that she didn’t hit him with the ends.

Like this the rope felt almost alive.

She grabbed both ends of the rope as momentum undid the final wrap on its own and put it to the side then slowly moved the strong arms so that they lay on either side of him.

Parker pulled her thumbs down the muscles, the slightest hint of sweat helping them move smoothly over the skin. No knots that she could feel. She moved on to his hands.

“Squeeze.”

He did, only slightly stronger than before but still firmer than any of her bottoms ever had. His hands were calloused and covered in scars; old nicks, burns, scrapes. She studied them with interest for a few moments, before giving them a couple of pats to let them know that they’d done a good job.

That done, she moved down and started undoing the hip harness since its knots were accessible at the front.

As the knots were undone, she grabbed either side of the rope underneath his back and slowly slid it out from beneath his back, keeping the tension firm and even. His right thigh was a warm weight against her own, pleasingly solid.

She smiled gently as she pulled the last rope out from under him, the feel of it moving completely under her control, the flow, was one of the best feelings she knew. Here there weren’t any doubts or ceaseless questioning and analysis.

Parker looked up from his hips to his chest and the remaining harness. His eyes were still softly closed and his muscles were smooth and relaxed.

“Is your back ready for you to sit up yet?” she inquired.

His eyes blinked slowly open, pupils large and relaxed, his face still smooth, so different from when he’d come in. She was being sucked into his eyes, full of so many things, like she was being given a window into his soul. She started shaking.

There were things beyond trust and respect in there and she just couldn't, this wasn't part of the deal, none of her usual models did this to her, why was he doing this to her, she needed it to stop right now, she needed-

Eliot blinked and she looked away as hard fast as she could, her ears ringing.

His hands came to the ground and pushed, raising his body gently up.

Distantly, she was pleased at the gesture and she used the thought to anchor herself despite the growing panic.

Damage control.

She needed-

She just needed to get through this.

She had a job. She was good at her job. She was proud of her competency in her job. Taking off the ropes was an essential part of her job.

She took a few sharp steps and sat down crossed legged behind him. Smoothly and efficiently she undid the ropes, doing her best not to touch his skin, afraid of all those feelings slipping through his skin and into hers, thankful that he was leaning forwards instead of back against her.

Parker could feel her heart forcing itself uncomfortably high in her throat but she pushed through it as she undid knot after bind after wrap.

At last, the final rope slid free. She was done.

Nausea bubbled in her throat but she breathed past it as she stood up and stepped away, eyes on the rope as she added it to the pile with the other ones.

Back turned she asked, “How do you feel?”

“I feel good,” he said, his voice soft, smooth. She shuddered uncomfortably. “Really good.”

“Any pain or tenderness?” she continued, tongue stiff.

“No.”

She heard him start to stand up and froze, shoulders bent over.

“Is everything alright?”

The wall behind him was a good place to look.

“Hardison will help you if you need anything,” she forced out past her now-frozen tongue.

She grabbed the pile of ropes and then turned and climbed to her loft, as fast as she could, leaving Eliot standing alone in the middle of the rig.

Just before she put on her headphones she called out to tell Hardison to get in there. At his affirmative, she dragged the rope onto her bed with her and turned the over-ear headphones on, shutting out the rest of the sound from the apartment. The wall across from the rest of the room was nice and empty.

Slowly she pulled out a first length of rope from the pile and started bundling it, working past trembling fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Six warnings: panic attack, Parker leaving Eliot without giving proper aftercare.


	7. Hardison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will shorten up and probably stay to one POV only. Note that this is the only new chapter, earlier chapters have been split up by POV.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the lovely comments (and to bemusedlybespectacled for reccing this fic which more than made my day).

Alec heard Parker calling out and quickly pushed away from his desk before rushing into the main room. Eliot was standing in the center of the mats. Crossing his arms, he advanced on the man. 

“What’d you do?”

The guy made an aborted half step towards the loft. “Is she alright?”

“I don’t know, what did you do to her?” Alec said as firmly as he could, blocking the line between the man and Parker, very aware that the other man could squash Alec like a bug. Didn’t matter though, Parker had needed to get away from him and Alec would make sure he didn’t bother her.

Eliot’s fists clenched. “How should I know? She just ran off all of a sudden!”

“Well since you were the only one in the room with her, you'd think you might have some idea.”

“Whatever, man, I’m leaving,” Eliot said and then stalked off towards the pile of his clothes on the couch. “Just check up on her or whatever, okay?”

Alec looked again, reassessed. The man had started shivering. Red marks crossed his biceps in two distinct lines. A particularly vibrant mark bisected his waist. None of them looked especially bad though. “Hey, did Parker give you any aftercare at all?” 

The marks meant he’d been put in a chest harness and a waist/hip harness. He checked Eliot’s wrists. Marks around the outside but not the inside so not the usual TK. Must have been a modified chest harness. He doubted Parker would have left without making sure he hadn’t had any nerve injuries but he'd been given point and needed to make sure for himself. Not that it seemed likely that he’d be allowed to.

The other man shrugged, looking away. He said, “Don’t need any,” before turning and starting to slip on his tank top in sharp, short movements. 

Alec raised his right eyebrow in abject disbelief. “So that’s a no, then.”

Now the x shaped mark across the front of his chest and the one around his waist were covered. His movements were sure and dextrous so the most common injuries, nerve impingement in the arm or wrist, were unlikely. Still, it would be best if he could keep on eye on him for a little bit longer and make sure nothing developed. The dude didn’t strike him as the type who’d call if he did feel a twinge or even if he got full on wrist-drop. And then there was the emotional fallout of subdrop which could be bad even when it wasn't someone's first time. And when their top hadn't been so distressed they'd had to run off.

Still no response. The sweats were yanked back on in another moment.

Alec sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Parker was definitely buying the next time they ate out.

He pressed on. “You gotta eat after something like that. I’m ordering pizza, why don’t you join me?”

Eliot’s eyes swiveled towards him, peaking out from the hoodie punched around his shoulders. Alec fought the urge to giggle and in another instant Eliot had finished pulling it on. 

His fingers carded through his hair, fixing any hint of muss that the action might have caused.

Alec turned away so that he didn’t have the fight down the grin this gesture provoked this time. He bet that Eliot enjoyed having his hair pet. It would probably be effective aftercare, plus, all that muscle coiled up but soft under your hands? Mmmm-mhm, sweet like pie.

Eliot’s scowling face and hunched over shoulders flashed out of the corner of his eye. Yeah, maybe some other day. If there was another day. Alec was going to have to be more subtle in getting this guy the aftercare he clearly needed. 

The vivid colour of the marks suggested a fair amount of weight had been put on them. So a partial suspension was likely, still a more intense scene than she usually did with newbies and for good reason. Increased physical strain almost always led to increased emotional vulnerability. Hell, he might even have hit subspace. Jumping from that to being in a room with a guy he didn’t know would cause emotional whiplash in the best of people, nevermind an inexperienced bottom. The whole boys don’t cry thing? A travesty for male bottoms in the scene.

So basically, this was about as bad a turn of events as you could get. 

He cracked his neck.

Challenge accepted, mission start.

“And I’m kind of thirsty–you thirsty? I’m gonna get you some water, man.” Alec walked towards the kitchenette, pulling down and filling glasses. “Gotta keep all those muscles of yours hydrated, you know what I’m sayin’? ‘Specially after a session like that.”

Alec rubbed his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans and kept going just like his fifth foster mom, Mrs. Williams, had taught him. You just had to keep talking and eventually they’d let you in, take a flyer, offer you tea and cookies (even if they were almost never the good kind .) 

“Dehydration’s a serious thing,” Alec continued. “Plus you don’t need to be any growlier than you already are, if you know what I mean.”

“What the hell was that?” Eliot said, his face a picture of frustration, arms so crossed firmly across his chest that Alec thought he might snap them. “You were just yelling at me for hurting Parker and now you’ve filled me a glass of water?” 

Bingo. Eliot’s wall had been chipped open and Alec was going to press the advantage for all that he could.

Alec put the glasses down on the table before settling on the couch. “Yeah, man.” He shrugged. “Pretty clear you’re worried about her walking off like that too but it’s also pretty clear that you don’t have a clue why it happened. Besides, Parker asked me to come in and she wouldn’t have done that if you’d done something wrong.” 

Eliot stared for another minute before murder walking to the table and sucking down the glass of water in quick, efficient gulps.

Alec tried to control the widening of his eyes and wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. “You want another glass of water there, man?”

Eliot put down the glass in much the same way as he had picked it up, his arms going back up to cross defensively over his chest. 

So that was a no. Still, Alec thought to himself, at least he hadn’t made another step towards the door and he’d gotten some water into his system.

Objective one: complete.

Carefully, Alec turned his gaze towards the 40 inch flat screen TV that he’d bought for the studio. Parker hadn’t had a TV at all and she didn’t even watch shows on her computer. Luckily, Alec had fixed that with the purchase of this baby and introducing Parker to the joy of home reno shows.

He turned it on, straight to NBC and saw Eliot’s eyes lock on to the 4K Ultra HD LED screen. Bingo, Alec had him. Now the trick was to pretend that he didn’t know that he had him. 

“Yeah, she’s sweet, right? Good sound too. And with that kind of resolution it changes the way you watch sports, like revolutionizes.”

Eliot had started inching towards him now.

“I was planning on watching the Leafs v. Islanders game. The Islanders’ve done alright so far, but, ehh... you never know. The Leafs are holding their own in the game so far though. ‘Course with it being the Leafs, everyone’s just waiting for the collapse.”

Eliot shook his head a little. “But Babcock’s got Nylander playing winger now and van Riemsdyk was solid all last year. Plus Mitch Marner might turn into something. And with last year’s last place finish they’ve finally dabbed a No.1 draft pick in Auston Matthews so they might finally have a real center for the first time since Mats Sundin way back in the 2000s.”

Alec nodded vaguely, trying to hide the widening of his eyes and pretending he knew half of the players that Eliot was talking about. Sure, he followed the headlines and watched some games, enough to know about the Leafs getting the no.1 draft pick, but this was encyclopedic.

Eliot leaned against the side of the couch, eyes locked on the screen as one of the forwards skated down the ice, puck in hand, towards the Islanders defense. “They've ended up with seventeen wingers on their roster and not that much else,” he continued. “And they’ve got three salary dumps in their forwards lineup but Brooks Laich is a good dude especially for a team as scattered as the Leafs. You can’t discount how important it is to have someone who’s good in the locker room...”

Eliot’s left hand had slipped under the right cuff of his hoodie. Out of the corner of his eye, Alec could see the outline of a thumb rubbing rhythmically against the skin of his wrist as he talked. Rubbing against the rope marks that Parker had left. Before he’d be focusing on any potential injuries, but now he was seeing them with different eyes.

Alec shivered a little, trying to look like he was watching the game and not Eliot. He wondered if Eliot would push into the bruises a couple of days down the line and remember what Parker had done to him.

A vague image tried to form in his brain of what they might have looked like together; Parker lithe and blond and solid, brown-haired Eliot with his scarred, tanned skin. The marks on his skin had suggested what sort of pose he’d been placed in by Parker. He wished-- _Bad Hardison, get a grip._

He dragged his mind out of the gutter and back to the game. Eliot was still talking (and he’d started rubbing the rope marks that had to be around his other wrist).

“... so their defense is their biggest problem right now, even if Andersen looks promising in goal. But that’s part of Shanahan and Babcock’s vision, they’re tearing down the old, taking on lots of young and promising rookies and building it up again from the foundations. It’s not likely that they’ll beat any records this year but if they can grow those young rookies in a couple of years they might really have a shot,” Eliot finished, body tilted forwards and towards the game. He took a sip of his water.

Alec raised his eyebrows.”Right,” he said nodding with disbelief, trying to sound like he’d been listening attentively (or had understood most of that discussion). 

Guy loved his hockey, good to know.

Casually he continued, “Well, things aren’t looking great for Toronto but it should be an exciting game.” Inside he was jumping up and down internally but on the outside he was as cool as a cucumber. Objective two: complete.

Now that Eliot was sitting on the couch and watching the game, Alec could go back to his first question. He started flipping through the Dominos menu on his phone even though he already knew his order. Didn’t hurt to check and see if there was anything in the offers he might like better though. 

A scroll through the menu later and he had his mind made up, he selected his pizza before holding out the phone to Eliot. “What kind of pizza do you want?”

Still facing the TV, Eliot’s gaze turned thoughtful. He seemed to come to a decision in another moment because he turned to face Alec. When he saw the phone in Alec’s hand though his face fell.

“Not really feeling anything right now. You’re welcome to order without me,” he said, turning back to the TV, voice suddenly flat.

Alec frowned a little wondering what bug had crawled up his ass.

“Okay then,” replied Alec, putting away his phone. He wasn’t really sure what to do with that and ordering for just him and Parker seemed a little pointless considering the whole point had been to get Eliot to eat.

“Is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”

Eliot didn’t reply and Alec frowned again. It was like they were right back to square one with him being all silent and growly. Damn. If only he knew where the landmine he’d stepped on actually was.

Eliot really should eat. And drink some more.

“Can I at least get you something more to drink? Ginger ale, tea, orange soda, milk, beer,” he listed, growing increasingly desperate as Eliot remained non-responsive.

No immediate reply. 

Alec was about to ask again when the guy slipped his hands into his pockets and huddled down into his hoodie. “Some more water would be good.”

When he put them down on the table Eliot murmured out a thanks and Alec went back to his office to grab his laptop. Hopefully, Eliot would relax a bit if Alec seemed preoccupied by something that wasn’t him. And that should allow any injuries to become apparent. As a plus, Parker’s brain should have reset a little, enough that she might come down.

Two commercial breaks later and another round for each of them and Alec was starting to get seriously hungry. He’d managed to find the problem in a long stretch of code one of his clients had sent him and deserved a break. 

Eliot had been surprisingly entertaining to watch during the game. He’d finally loosened up and, his eyes fixed on the screen, could be seen pumping his hand or clenching his thigh as the situation demanded, occasionally chiding the ref for a bad call or one of the guy’s on D for a bad play. 

Every once in awhile one of Eliot’s hands would come up to rub against his rope marks. Alec’s brain had run off imaging bumping his glass while he was taking a drink so that the water would spill over the sleeves of his hoodie before he’d wrestled it under control. He was here to help Eliot come down from an intense scene, his first, because his top had vanished, not to leer.

Alec decided he’d done enough fantisizing. “So,” he said. “Any more thoughts about food? ‘Cause I don’t know about you but I am starving.”

Not taking his eyes off the screen Eliot said, “Don’t you have anything in the kitchen?”

Alec leaned back and looked at Eliot, disbelievingly. People didn’t need stocked kitchens, that’s what UberEats was for. “Well I mean I’ve got some pizza pockets and some pop tarts and some of Parker’s favourites cereals but I was hoping for something a little bit more substantial.”

Eliot turned away from the screen at last to look at Alec. “That’s it? All that sodium will kill you someday, dude,” he said, sounding more than a little bit horrified.

Alec took a long sip of his orange soda. Ah the sweet taste of processed goodness. He didn’t know what Eliot was talking about. This was the food of the gods. Still, he didn’t say anything else, relaxing as the energy between them dissipated. He bet Eliot would be really fun to wind up some other day.

Eliot’s face wound into a complicated grimace. After another minute he conceded. “Fine, we’ll get some pizza. But I pick the place.”

“Yeah, fine, whatever man,” said Alec doing a little victory dance. Hallelujah.

“Hey, Parker,” Alec yelled up. “You want any pizza? Eliot’s got a place.”

A blonde head appeared from the loft and Eliot froze in the corner of Alec’s eye, staring at her.

“Small pepperoni.”

The head disappeared once more and Eliot turned abruptly away, shoulders stiff once more.

Shit, that had not gone as Alec had planned.

“What’s the number? I’ll put the charge on the business card,” Alec offered, but Eliot was having none of it. His phone was already dialing.

“I’ll pay for my own damn dinner, Hardison,” he growled. His eyes actually flicked to the kitchen in contempt. Contempt.

“Well okaaay then.” Alec pursed his lips, wishing he knew how to fix this. He thought he’d been getting somewhere and he knew he had been but of course seeing Parker had gotten Eliot worked up and stressed again. Still, he’d been hoping that they’d spend a little bit of time together before Eliot left. In spite of his grouchiness he’d been pretty good company and besides that kind of grouchiness meant the best kind of reactions. The point was, Alec wanted him to come back.

“You sure? We set aside money for this sort of thing.” was all he said in the end. 

Eliot nodded firmly.

Alec would just have to keep working at it.

He turned his mind to food. “I’ll have BBQ chicken, then,” Alec said, his mouth already wet with anticipation.

“You’ll get a what?” Eliot asked very softly.

“BBQ chicken pizza. You know, they spread BBQ sauce on the bottom, some mozarella, some chicken, maybe some peppers. BBQ chicken pizza,” Alec said with a shrug. What sort of rock had Eliot crawled out from under that didn’t have BBQ chicken pizza? “-with cheese in the crust.”

“They don’t do cheese in the crust,” ground out Eliot from behind slightly clenched teeth but the good kind, Alec thought. “And barbecue sauce does not belong on pizza.”

“What are you getting then?” asked Alec with a challenging grin, watching the spark in Eliot’s eyes. 

Gotcha.

“The house special,” replied Eliot, like he had rocks between his teeth and someone was trying to steal them. “They top their slow fermented house pizza dough with bechamel, parmesan and provolone then layer on their in-house porchetta and slices of pear. Then, sprinklings of pistachio, fried sage, honey, and crackling. The pear brings out the pork, without the acidity of--” He paused, face all scrunched up and at last expressive. “Look, it’s great, alright? Try it.” 

Alec raised his eyebrows and held up his hands mock apologetically, enjoying the banter. “Okay, I get it, you’re a food guy.” He shrugged and grinned. “But I’m still getting my BBQ chicken pizza.”

Eliot growled under his breath but he didn’t argue any further just stomped off and ordered their pizzas. There was a definite liveliness to his growl that hadn’t been there earlier.

Alec grinned a little as he counted out the necessary bills for their share of the bill. Maybe he hadn’t done so bad after all.

Besides, this was another victory on Eliot which made it 3-2 by his reckoning. Never underestimate the underdog. Especially not when his name was Alec Hardison, geek genius extraordinaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Seven warning: None.


	8. Eliot

“Mo said to tell you that you’re lucky he had barbecue sauce on hand.”

Eliot growled. _Damnit, Hardison._

He handed the cash Hardison had given him plus his own share to the delivery guy. When he moved to give one back, Eliot shook his head. “Keep the change.” The guy raised his eyebrows but didn’t try to give it back again. “And tell Mo I said hi. And thanks for bending his menu.”

The delivery guy handed over the three pizzas before heading away.

Eliot took the stairs instead of the elevator, getting his circulation going. He knew it was important after a session like the one he’d had with Parker, especially with all the backbending, but for once he dragged his feet. Even the smell of his favourite pizza didn’t do much for his mood. 

He half wanted to just drop of the other two pizzas and go back to his apartment. At least then he could be moody alone. But the odd hope that Parker might come down kept him here, lingering. If she didn’t come down, Eliot would at least like to know what he’d done wrong.

He frowned at the memory. He prided himself on respecting his partners, brief as they might be.

And it had been so good.

Better than he’d ever imagined.

The silence in his head, being filled so completely with sensation until suddenly there were no sensations at all and everything was quiet and he didn’t have to worry about decisions or his past, floating.

He shivered.

The very moment he’d come down and out of it he’d wanted more. A hunger had opened up inside had that he’d only seen out of the corner of his eye before.

At the rate he healed the marks would be gone in less than a day.

He sped up and took the next several flights too fast to do any more thinking.

He reached the top of the stairs, some ten floors up and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Hardison called out.

Eliot entered and turned into the main room from the hall only to find Parker balancing on the back of the sofa on Hardison’s left side, her shoulders curled down around her body, legs swimming through the air, eyes fixed pointedly away from him.

He stumbled a little, his feet having stopped before the rest of him had a chance to catch up to the scene in front of him.

“Hey man,” said Hardison, “Thanks for going down to collect those.”

Eliot nodded offhandedly, still staring at Parker.

She didn’t look scared but then he barely knew her. 

At least whatever had happened hadn’t upset her so much that she’d been unable to come down knowing that he was still in the room.

 _Look at me_.

The thought bubbled up before he could stop it.

He just needed that recognition, that acknowledgment, needed to touch, needed–

He didn’t need anything except himself.

In the end, Eliot took his time removing his shoes, pizzas still in hand, doing his best to avoid the feeling of Hardison’s eyes on him.

He was glad for the chance to turn away from the two of them even if it was only for a moment. Gave him time to compose himself a little.

He’d been in worse situations with a partner before, Aimee for one and this wasn’t even a hookup, this was someone who he’d paid to provide a service and that service was being tied up. Sure it had been intense but she was a professional and from the little he knew of her he already knew that she was direct. If he’d messed up, she’d have told him straight or had Hardison tell him worst case. She wouldn’t be perching on the couch about to have pizza with him.

It’d be cool. 

They’d be cool.

He turned back to find Hardison nudging Parker with his elbow. Parker seemed if anything to be smaller than before.

A beat.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

The words erupted in a quiet flurry from Parker’s mouth before ending just as abruptly. In another moment she was back to staring at the wall.

The boxes of pizza were warm in his hand, the steam soaking slowly into the cardboard.

Eliot looked away from the pair of them, rocking his weight between his feet.

The silence stretched.

“So I didn’t, uh, do anything to scare you or anything?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Parker corrected without moving. 

That wasn’t exactly the same thing but Eliot supposed he’d have to take it.

Hardison gave Parker another nudge.

“I get overwhelmed sometimes.” 

Eliot stayed silent.

“I should have told you before our session,” Parker continued, still avoiding any form of eye contact from either of them. 

“You went beyond my physical and emotional expectations.”

Eliot wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing.

Parker’s head turned towards his though he noticed that she carefully avoided any eye contact.

Another pause.

He watched her ribs expand as she took a deep breath and then she was looking at him with those strange pale eyes. “You were so good for me, Eliot. Thank you for letting me tie you.”

A shiver spread across his body before he could stop it. Warmth pooled in his body.

He looked away this time.

“Pizzas are gettin’ cold,” he grunted out before laying them out on the coffee table in front of the couch and leaning back against the wall so he could distract himself in the hockey game on the TV. 

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Parker exchanging glances with Hardison before he swung an arm around her. It looked reassuring, comfortable.

He pretended to ignore the “you did good, mama” that Hardison whispered to her.

More silence except for the voice of the commentator coming through at low volume form the TV.

Eliot would have grabbed a piece of pizza but that’d be bad manners.

Parker at least seemed to be peering down with interest from her perch at the unopened boxes. Hardison seemed to sigh before he pulled the tops off one by one. Hardison gave Eliot’s pizza the side eye before digging enthusiastically into his own pie.

Eliot spared a moment to wonder if they even had plates in this place before he shrugged and decided that that wasn’t something he had the energy for. Instead he leaned down pulled a slice out from the box.

He paused to admire the artistry of the slice and the smell before he took his first bite.

He chewed with pleasure, appreciating the way the bechamel bridged the gap between the fruity, floral pear and the rich and meaty pork. The crackling and the pistachios were the perfect textural contrast to the creamy sauce and toothsome crust.

Mo still had it.

He became aware of two sets of eyes staring at him. He looked over, eyebrows raised. They never seen a guy eat before?

“Man, if you wanted some time alone with that pie, you could have just said,” Hardison said, eyes wide with amusement.

The atmosphere in the room lightened.

“You wouldn’t be makin’ fun if you’d ordered one like I told you to.” Eliot gestured at the box to make his point then looked again.

“Which of you took a slice of my pizza?” he asked, looking back the suspects.

Parker licked her lips, cleaning off a smear of white sauce. “Oh!” she exclaimed, her delight pushing past her earlier reluctance. “That was good. Sweet but salty too.”

Eliot growled a bit, unable to stop himself from being a bit pleased on the inside that she’d enjoyed it so much even if he hadn’t cooked it.

Seeing Hardison eying the pie too, he gestured again. “Go ahead and have a slice. Never go back to that sugared up crap.”

A beat and then Hardison had a slice in his hand and then that slice in his mouth. 

The noise that came out of his mouth was positively orgasmic and Eliot felt a thrill of victory, totally unlike his response to Parker’s own appreciation..

“Now that,” he said slouching back into the couch, arms casually behind his neck. “Is real food.”

Hardison swallowed up the rest of the slice in gulping, smacking bites before speaking. “That is good, man, like real good.”

He paused for effect and Eliot looked on, radiating amused disbelief. 

“But that don’t stop my BBQ chicken pizza from being a masterpiece,” finished Hardison.

Eliot shook his head, feeling a hint of a smile creeping up onto his face. “Barbecue sauce has no business on a pizza. Other places, yeah, but not a pizza. The fact that Mo can make it work is a testament to his skill not to the merits of the idea.”

Parker’s head came between the two of them, staring down to the table with the pizzas. A pause and then her hand shot out and a slice of the BBQ abomination was in her grasp. She disposed of it quickly too. “So sweet!” she crowed out. “Not like Eliot’s at all.”

Eliot looked over to her own, small pepperoni pizza. Untouched.

He sighed, feeling a little warm in the chest, then went back to the game before he could explore that any further. He took another slice of his own and turned his attention back to the game. It was now the third period and the Islanders were up 2-1 after an early lead by the Leafs. Looked like they might have another bad start to the season this year. Still, the Islanders had played a good defensive game which was always fun to watch.

The Leafs made another try for the net and missed, Eliot watching with baited breath. The defense had just collapsed on that last one.

“Can I poke you?” The question was so unexpected Eliot blinked a little at Parker. She was still perching on the back of the couch behind Hardison, only barely in arms reach. 

Eliot didn't answer, waiting for her to clarify and watching the game out of the corner of his eye. The Islanders had the buck and were making a breakaway down the centreline.

“-Don’t you dare,” Eliot called out to Hardison who had tried to take the opportunity to steal another slice of Eliot’s pizza. “You should have listened to my advice and ordered the house special. You don’t get to eat mine just cause you didn’t.”

“Well?”

Eliot stared at her, filled with confusion and disbelief. He just didn’t get her.

A beat. Eliot divided his attention being the duo on the couch and keeping a careful eye on his pizza.

“I didn't have time to check you over before I left.” The last word was out of her mouth almost before the first had finished. 

The warmth was back again and he pushed it away.

“Sure, whatever.”

A jab of pain spread through his left side and Eliot turned to watch as she repeated the movement. A slender finger had poked its way into his left bicep, directly where a line of rope had laid only an hour earlier. 

Just her touching him had that warmth in his belly going again but he didn’t move away. 

Another poke.

Couple of crazy kids.

She poked him a third time, very deliberately, now at the place where the second wrap had laid across his left bicep. The pleasure-pain sensation that followed had him fighting between flinching back and inching closer.

Parker watched his every move with keen interest and Eliot couldn’t quite get over the sensation that she’d noticed his every reaction. 

Next to Eliot, Hardison seemed to be fighting not to chuckle at Eliot’s predicament. 

“Can I keep poking you?” asked Parker. 

Eliot wondered what exactly overwhelmed meant and how exactly he’d made her feel that way. Were they going to do another session? Was that what all the poking and the hanging out was about or did she just feel sorry for him? 

He must have been silent for a moment too long because Parker moved to drape over Hardison’s shoulder and reach her second slice of BBQ pizza. 

“Fine. But only during the commercial breaks,” Eliot said with a resigned sigh. It had only been one session but already he felt sure that these two would be the death of him. The fact that he’d have to come _back_ for that to be a continuing state of affairs went unvoiced, even in his head. 

Parker reached out an arm from her position across Hardison and fell short of Eliot.

The hand withdrew.

Eliot leaned to his side so that he could reach the beer on the table. When he pulled back, bear now in hand he was half-sitting on the right arm of the couch.

The hand stretched out again.

Finding its target now closer, it gave a slow poke to his right shoulder, the arm it was attached to stretching across Eliot’s back, slim and warm.

He took another sip of beer, eyes firmly on the game and tried to ignore how nice it felt to have Parker resting her arm across his own shoulder as her fingers examined the side she had yet to check over.

In the end, Toronto pulled it back in the game and they had tied it up just before the bell sounded. The new 3-on-3 style for overtime was a little smoother this year than it had been last year, when it had been implemented for the first time. Made for a better game. Eliot nodded with satisfaction.

Before he knew it, overtime was over in a flurry of disappointed groans, excited shouts and sighs of relief from all of them, leaving neither team with a goal. They weren’t bad to watch sports with. Hardison wasn’t bad on strategy and Parker liked the footwork and the puck handling.

But with the game now over, he couldn’t justify imposing on them any longer. He got up and grabbed his empty pizza box.

The contents of the recycling box led to a little pause. It suggested their diet consisted mostly of processed, packed and/or take out food. Combined with the meager contents of the fridge and cupboard, he could only hope that the kitchens in their actual appartments were better stocked.

After a moment he sighed and stuffed his pizza box in on top. They were adults; he was their client. 

None of his business.

He headed back towards the door, dropping a “see you,” along the way.

Hardison’s voice made him pause. “Hey, do you want to come over and watch Thursday night’s game?” Hardison asked with a casual smile as he leaned back into the sofa.

Next to him, Parker was waiting for his answer with a curious cocked head, feet swinging again (a tell?). Hardison was hardly any better with that hopeful, wide smile of his, all loose and relaxed.

The session had been more than anything he could have imagined.

He remembered that moment after before Parker had run away when everything had felt so quiet and right in the world. 

As a rule he didn’t do sticking around.

“Okay.”

He took a last look of the two of them, so opposite in appearance and so compatible in mind. 

He turned from them before they could see the softness they’d inspired on his face.

\----

By the time he was walking home he already missed the warmth and light of the of the studio. 

He changed course. There was a new bar that was supposed to have some good microbrews on tap, all local.

It wasn’t a bad looking place. Had the right smell and the selection was as good as he’d been promised.

The company wasn’t bad either.

At the tables a little ways from the bar, a petite but particularly athletic woman had caught his eye on his way in. Her short, blonde hair framed blue eyes and a mischievous mouth that promised a whole lot of fun if Eliot was so inclined. 

There wasn't any reason to rush into anything tonight though. His body felt loose and sore in the best way possible. He could afford to be patient. 

He watched as a guy came up the bar, nicely toned and with a good head on Eliot gave him a slow up and down and Eliot tipped his eyes in response. He didn’t often feel like pulling guys but today had that sort of feel.

The guy smiled, bright white teeth shining out in contrast to his dark skin.

He tilted his head towards the woman Eliot had been admiring earlier. She caught the gesture and waved a little at Eliot, showing off her muscled bicep and her shapely abs in her crop top. 

A shiver worked its way up his spine and he raised his glass of beer to each of them in turn before taking a long sip. If he leaned back a little against the wall and if that happened to show off his body rather favourably, well, they certainly seemed to appreciate it.

The man walked towards him, glass in hand, allowing Eliot to do some appreciation of his own. The slacks and dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck said some kind of business man. His partner was a little harder to judge but she was clearly athletic.

“Can we buy you another?” asked the man once he was close enough. “The Sunrise, right?”

Eliot gave a shrug and a slow smile of his own. “Whatever the bartender recommends.”

“Their IPA isn’t bad either.” He gave a sip from his glass in demonstration.

“Sounds good.”

“Dylan would love to meet you if you’d like to join her while I bring over the beers.” The woman, Dylan, gave him a slow smile. “And I’m Blake by the way.”

“Eliot,” he replied with a reciprocating look.

The sudden sense of déjà vu struck him and the warm heat that had been growing in his hips became cold dread.

“Sorry, gonna have to call a raincheck,” Eliot said with another look at them both. Once the resemblance had been spotted, he couldn’t unsee it. He had too much respect for everyone involved to get caught in a game of stand ins.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” was Blake’s reply. “Beer’s still our treat. Hit us up next time you’re feeling in the mood,” he finished. The smile he gave as his parting gift was just as attractive as the first. Maybe when this was all over, Eliot would take them up on it.

He gave them each a final nod of acknowledgment and thanks before heading out into the chill of the night.

By the time he made it to his dark apartment, their offer looked even better but it would just have made things complicated. Besides, they deserved to be wanted for their own, considerable, assets.

He grabbed a pear from his fruit bowl. Between, bites of pear he stripped his clothes off and dumped them directly into the washer. It felt like the little fibers of rope had gotten everywhere and he had no desire for them to spread further.

The water from the shower was hot and firm just like he liked it. No sign of broken skin anywhere, not that he’d expected to find any. Parker had clearly known what she was doing. 

The rope fibers now washed from his body and the water and the pressure working miracles on his sore muscles, he turned his attention to his hair. Fifteen minutes later he was out of the shower and dry.

He took out his bruise balm and rubbed some into the red mark around his left wrist, working it deep into the skin and giving the tissue underneath a massage. 

He breathed, slow and easy. 

His brain was quiet as he continued to work on mark after mark, luxuriating into the sensation of bruises that had, for the first time in a long time, been made in service to himself. 

So he would be going back to see them again in the end. 

His brow furled when he remembered the deplorable contents of their kitchen. 

He’d bring beer next time. 

Maybe he could even sneak in some snacks under the pretense of feeding himself. Nothing too big. 

Nachos maybe with some of his roasted tomato and peach salsa. He’d been wanting to try that chips recipe for a while and his guacamole was damn good if he did say so himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it, the end of the fic! But this is not the end of the story or of this world. If you'd like to prompt me in this universe, I've got plenty of ideas and would love to write more in it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who wrote comments and chatted with me about this fic. Thanks also to my lovely betas.
> 
> If you have any questions or comments, please hit me up :)

**Author's Note:**

> A little note here, Parker makes some mistakes in this fic as a top (and so does Hardison). Likewise, I no way mean to imply that all rope tops struggle to connect emotionally with their bottoms or are as technical with them as Parker can be. This story is in part about how each of them grow through contact with each other and as such some of their challenges revolve around rope and kink. 
> 
> Likewise, while I do my best to describe positions and practices that could reasonably be done with people like Eliot and Parker, no rope work is perfectly safe, especially not suspension work. As mentioned above, some things described in this fic are distinctly not safe or are bad practice. While I will explore the consequences of these actions (and the safety concerns inherent to suspension work), please don't try to mimic the poses described unless you're already an experienced rigger. If this fic does get you interested in exploring shibari, kinbaku, rope bondage or suspension bondage, please get in contact with your local kink scene. Suspension bondage is almost impossible to learn without an experienced teacher in the room and is certainly far more dangerous. Even if you don't have local teachers, many travel and do workshops accross the world. Happy tying :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same username.


End file.
